Ember Dragon

"Full speed ahead!"

"For the Ember Empire!"

"Within ten days, storm into Auguste and annihilate the Kingdom of Thrace!"

The soldiers of the Ember Empire chanted slogans and sang rousing battle songs as they advanced across the vast Thracian Plain.

Beside them roared steam tanks and armored vehicles. Above them, a fleet of airships blotted out the sky.

The Imperial General Staff had long devised a complete tactical strategy. The Imperial army was divided into two forces.

The Eastern Army Group, commanded by Duke Drol, included six armored divisions, two air divisions, and twelve mechanized infantry divisions—a total of 230,000 troops. They would cross the Farrell Mountains and attack from the east.

The Western Army Group, under the command of Duke Arturo, comprised eight armored divisions, three air divisions, and nine mechanized infantry divisions—270,000 troops. They would cross the Helmold River and drive deep into Thrace from the western plains.

Both commanding dukes had risen through the battlefield ranks, seasoned and decorated.

Duke Drol specialized in multi-domain joint operations. During the conquest of the Highland Kingdom, he pioneered the "Three-Dimensional Canyon Warfare" strategy, combining air forces and special ops. He once annihilated the main force of the dwarven city defenders with a casualty ratio of 1:23.

Duke Arturo was renowned for his theory of "Armored Blitzkrieg," achieving an 80-kilometer daily advance record in the Northern Aether campaign. His hallmark was a precise fuel logistics system that sustained high-intensity offensives for up to two weeks.

These two strategic army groups launched simultaneous offensives on Auguste from east and west, forcing the enemy to stretch their front and fight on two sides.

On the map, the Empire’s assault resembled the pincers of a giant crab, striking fiercely at the enemy’s throat—"the City of Sunrise," Auguste.

With their high level of mechanization, the Imperial troops moved far faster than regular forces, catching the Thracians off guard and leaving them scrambling.

Meanwhile, the Empire’s Wyvern Legions bombed Thracian cities, spreading terror.

Moreover, millions of players accepted Cassius’s [War Quest: Conquer Thrace], swarming into the region in droves. Operating outside the regular army, they launched indiscriminate attacks.

After devouring countless gold coins, the Empire’s army underwent revolutionary development in just a few years—far surpassing the imagination of any enemy, even the Three Great Kingdoms.

"Boom!"

Artillery fire tore through the sky, hurling rocks and dust high into the air. The morning mist over the countryside turned blood red.

A thunderous wall formed from the Imperial artillery barrage. Three hundred self-propelled guns raised their barrels in unison, like mechanical beasts baring steel fangs.

In the distant trenches, Thracian defenders suffered heavy casualties. Charred limbs flew in all directions.

Thracian noble officer Kaine Erwin grabbed the artillery commander by the collar and lifted him off the ground, bellowing over the roar of the cannons. His face was twisted, saliva flying.

"Where’s our artillery?! Didn’t His Majesty Wilhelm buy you two hundred heavy cannons?! Did you embezzle them all?! Fire back!"

The artillery commander stammered, "My lord, they’re too far. We can’t reach them. If we open fire, our position will be exposed, and the consequences—"

"Damn coward!"

Kaine flung him to the ground and shoved a gun to his head, snarling, "The Kingdom bought you the best guns! Why can’t you fire back?!"

"Coward! Gutless wretch! If you won’t shoot, I’ll execute you and command in your place!"

With the gun to his head, the artillery commander paled and could only weakly respond, "Y-Yes, my lord."

Under orders, Thracian artillerymen began aiming toward the Imperial lines, loading ammunition into outdated, clunky heavy cannons discarded by the Empire years ago.

Ironically, Klawberu Arms Corporation salesmen had marketed these as the Empire’s most advanced cannons—cutting-edge products.

The commander looked out at the overwhelming Imperial force and despaired, but still resolutely raised his hand.

"Fire!"

"Boom—"

At the command, artillery roared in unison.

Fire burst from the dark muzzles, shells arcing across the sky.

But soon, the Thracian shells fell weakly onto a hillside, causing sporadic explosions and kicking up dirt and debris.

Too far.

These antique guns couldn’t possibly hit targets more than ten miles away—far beyond their range.

However, the muzzle flashes were quickly spotted by Imperial scouts. Within two minutes, the exact coordinates were relayed to the Imperial artillery commander, Bighead.

The battle-hardened ogre sneered, "Foolish Thracians. They don’t even know how to conceal their artillery. They’re not even worthy of our discarded junk."

"Haha, they should return to the stone age—spears and rocks."

Bighead waved his hand and coolly ordered, "Tsk tsk. Blow those scrap heaps to hell."

"Damn it! Why?! Why?!" Kaine howled in fury at the distant scene.

"Boom!"

Moments later, a thunderous blast echoed. Hundreds of shells streaked through the sky like a storm, raining down on the Thracian position.

"We’re finished. It’s all over."

The artillery commander collapsed to the ground, pale-faced. He looked up, trembling, fire reflected in his pupils.

"God..."

The Empire’s first salvo howled like death itself. Shells plummeted, their tungsten-alloy tips igniting white-hot sparks from air friction.

Thirty-meter-wide fireballs bloomed like flowers of hell across the artillery zone. Shockwaves hurled the ground and cannons into the air, shredding barrels into iron rain.

"Boom—"

Next came volleys from the "Heaven’s Punishers" rocket launchers, raining incendiary submunitions.

Tens of thousands of steel shards created a low-altitude metal storm. Thracian soldiers in the trenches, still reloading, were shredded like paper.

Curled in a trench, Kaine muttered, "We’ve never even seen weapons like these before."

With his remaining arm, he pounded the dirt wall and roared, "Damn it! Those shameless Imperials tricked us!"

Suddenly, a piercing whistle came from above—like the Reaper’s cry. Kaine couldn’t help but look up through the smoke-filled sky.

Dark shadows streaked overhead, dropping bombs like raindrops—it was a Wyvern bomber formation.

"Boom!"

Thermobaric blasts erupted, high-temperature shockwaves incinerating everything, vaporizing Imperial corpses into charred silhouettes.

Then, steam tanks rumbled over the hills, charging the Thracian position. Behind them, infantry armed with SMGs advanced swiftly, laying down covering fire.

But when they reached the trenches, they discovered most Thracian troops were already dead.

Burnt corpses filled the trenches, many frozen in their final poses—reloading, cowering, covering ears.

"Looks like they’re all dead?"

"Isn’t that normal? They say the army’s job is to clean up the battlefield."

"So these are the Thracians, descendants of Fadlan? Don’t see what’s so great about them. Why did we mobilize so much?"

"Just follow orders. Why overthink it? Easy victories aren’t a problem."

Suddenly, a charred hand reached from the corpses. A hideously burnt officer stood, voice raspy: "Damn Imperial bastards!"

It was the army’s commander—Kaine Erwin.

As a transcendent-level Paladin, his vitality was extremely tenacious, and with divine arts protecting his body, he actually survived this terrifying bombardment.

He picked up his sword. His tattered armor glowed with sunlight. "Minions of the evil dragon, His Majesty Amanata will not spare you!"

With a roar, his silver sword cleaved the air, slicing a dozen unprepared Imperial soldiers in half.

Then, survivors hidden among the corpses leapt out, brandishing weapons and charging the stunned Imperials.

"We’ve got survivors!"

"Focus fire!"

"A Transcendent! Kill them now!"

After a moment’s panic, Imperial troops regrouped, forming teams and firing from all directions.

Muzzles flashed endlessly. Bullets rained like a storm on the Paladin, shattering his armor.

Kaine glared fiercely, golden divine light swirling around him, deflecting bullets to the ground.

"For Thrace! For Holy Fadlan!"

Shouting, he leapt high, cleaving the nearest Imperial soldier in two.

Bullets pouring around him, Kaine rampaged through the enemy, killing over twenty in minutes.

Locked in melee, he kept tanks and artillery from firing for fear of friendly fire.

"Requesting fire support! We’ve got a Transcendent here!"

"Kill him with everything we’ve got!"

Small tracking missiles flew in from afar, slamming into Kaine’s back and exploding violently.

"Boom!"

With a massive blast, Kaine was flung away, shredded by shrapnel, a blackened hole torn in his back.

More metal spheres exploded midair, forming electrified nets that trapped the Paladin.

"Damn Imperials!" Kaine thrashed wildly in the sparks, his sword ablaze with fury.

At that moment, a cannon extended from an airship, and icy rays blasted from the sky, striking Kaine’s chest.

He froze in place, skin coated in frost, like an ice sculpture—still twisted in rage.

All around him, guns, rocket launchers, even tank cannons locked onto his head.

"Boom!"

Flames engulfed the Paladin. When the smoke cleared, only a scorched crater remained.

A half-dragon officer picked up a radio: "Lord Arturo, we’ve secured Hill 103. Advancing toward Uliel City. Will regroup soon."

"Tal, stay alert. There’s a strong energy signature near you—likely Thrace’s main force."

"What? But we haven’t seen—"

"Zzzzz—"

Static cut off the transmission. Tal frowned.

Thrace’s main force?

His Wyvern scouts had circled repeatedly—no enemy in sight.

Then, an eerie chant echoed from above—like a cathedral hymn.

"Heavenfire burns eyes, blazing swords cleave armor; holy songs brand brows, divine gaze like flame."

"Shit! They’re above us!" The half-dragon looked up. In sunlight, space shimmered—hundreds of winged angels appeared.

"Sin-bone falls aflame, prayers rust in fire."

Clad in chains, wielding flaming swords, they looked down indifferently and sang hymns in praise of Wilhelm.

These were the Holy Guard of Thrace, a mysterious force personally trained by Wilhelm—dubbed the "Divine Progeny of a New Era."

"Sins burn to ash, our lord is eternal."

In an instant, golden-red flames rained from their swords, turning the sky orange.

The flames pierced the hovering airships, reducing them to fireballs crashing down.

On the ground, the fire burned Imperial soldiers alive, their screams piercing the battlefield.

Even anti-magic armored tanks combusted and exploded under the flames.

Tal dove into cover and screamed into his radio: "It’s an ambush! The damn Thracians used a fodder army as bait! Anti-air guns! Shoot those bird freaks down!"

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